


When you tasted divinity on your tongue (was it worth what you paid?)

by Catherines_Collections



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Demons, Demons are hell's warriors, Discussion and rage, Fallen Angel Lucifer, Gen, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 18:04:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10927152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherines_Collections/pseuds/Catherines_Collections
Summary: He was never tired before, she thinks, but there are many things he is now that he never was before.





	When you tasted divinity on your tongue (was it worth what you paid?)

**Author's Note:**

> Ha..haha..ha. I have spent two months trying to produce some FMA fic. My favorite show of all time. And I have few fics scattered around and mostly incomplete. Two months. This? I wrote this last night and edited it today. I- I just don't know. Maybe these guys are easier to write for me? Idk. (Do not relate my affinity for Maz to my affinity for Ed and Al. Don't do it.) Notice there is a lingering theme *cough cough* look at the title *cough* of sacrifice throughout. (FMA, I'm coming for you.)
> 
> Anyway, I own nothing, characters belong to their respective owners, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> (Also, May 18th will commemorate a whole year of me posting fic here! Hurrah! All I wanted was to post another fic here, that I liked, before that date came up and here we are! Surprise and hooray, only one day off!)

He's drunk when he says it, succumbing to the mundane form of entertainment he used to spend milliniums mocking. There's a boy playing the piano and a woman with a throaty voice singing along with it when her - lord, master, caretaker - boss leans back and looks up at her through much too thick lashes. She's still unsure about this mortal form he has chosen to take, the newness of it all, the pure humanity surrounding them. 

But then again, she is unsure of most of their changes. The ones he assured her must be made in an attempt to blend further with mortals. Air taste and smells different in new lungs, they are no where near as powerful as the ones attached to her true form and their functions are different, but she blames most of it on their sudden change in scene. Her body is still lithe but she holds most of her power within now.

(In hell she would display her true form: proud and smug. The armor she worked for and earned and always had adorning her body. Look at me, the shining material would scream,  look at what I have earned. Look at what I can do, just ask, just utter a challenge and you may witness.) 

She is different now, and so is he. And yet she still wakes every morning panicking at what she has missed because now her form requires sleep. Unprotected, unguarded, vulnerable sleep. When she complains to him he only smiles and nods, like he's excited by the new aspect, and she still does not understand his infatuation with mortals.

She brings herself back, standing behind him, and looks down at him. He looks up at her and smiles, white teeth that used to cut through bone and tear apart skin pushed into a plushy mundane mouth, and later when she has had time to think she still won't know what brought it on; what choked the words out of her leader and made him recite such devastation with bright eyes. 

He leans up, lying down where she is standing, and whispers into her ear. As if he is ashamed, as if there is a vice he has committed himself to that he feels is shameful. He is secretive now, when he never is and that is her first clue that something is wrong and something inside of her sours in dread, but she does not allow it to show on her face. 

His breath tickles her ear and the scent of alcohol is already thick in the air between him before he even begins. Though when he does it is with a smirk and eyes tilted away so that she cannot see them, no matter their proximity. "I prayed for you, you know." He starts, voice getting lower and more hoarse with every word, like they are being ripped from him, like he cannot control his own form any longer. And maybe he can't, maybe this is another price of mortality they have yet to discover. 

"Someone who would listen, maybe even understand. Someone who could, for a moment, make it seem less like a punishment, and maybe more," his voice cracks and she sinks her nails into the cushion of the couch and squeezes as tightly as she can without destroying it, "like a game. One I could even, maybe, have a chance of winning."

And then he leans back down as though he has not just stolen any breath she possessed and filled her lungs with an ice colder than the depths of hell. Her master- she decides. For that is what he will always be, no matter how the worlds around them change. That is what he will always be to her. No matter what the mortals around them will think of the title she calls him, it is truth and it is his and she will not allow one more precious thing of hers to be lost to the mortals - tilts his head back and laughs. As if he has not just ripped the foundation of the universe out from beneath her feet. As if he has not just admitted how truly far he has fallen, how damned he really felt. How damned he still feels, furtherest from the place he has had to call home for centuries, and how nothing will ever be enough to halt the pain that binds it's self around him and smudges his being. 

He's still laughing and her jaw is clinched so tightly she thinks she may break her teeth. But she looks at him, the deteriorating man before her, and her hand moves from clawing the cushions to run through his hair- taking a moment to cherish the way his laughter softens to sighs and his eyes begin to lower. 

Something thick fills her throat and something vile settles in her stomach, threatening to overtake the newfound thickness in her throat. The fire inside of her ignites and she wants to snarl at her master's creator, tear him limb from limb, reduce him to an abomination unworthy of the grace he so loudly proclaims to have. She wants to scream at him, cry for her master - he prayed for her. ( A betrayal.) For someone to numb the loneliness and pain for just a moment. He fell to his knees to the being that destroyed everything he ever loved and damned him for eternity, to pray. To wish, with no guarantee it would even be fulfilled. Even less of a chance for him than for humans - and she is consumed by her rage. How dare they label her master a Fallen, how dare they all reduce him to this. 

Fallen, she thinks sneering, remembering watching her master flinch at the word. Remembering the heartbreak in his eyes when he had first learned what the mortals knew of him- what they thought of him. She wants to bring her master's creator to his knees, to cast him out and laugh and watch as he looses all he has ever known. As they did to her master. As they did to her ruler.

Her rage is a powerful thing - fierce and swift and graceful, incapable of mercy - and she knows it is dangerous to allow it to run through her. Especially here, especially now with her master's head nearly in her lap and a drying sheer wetness stuck on his cheeks. So for now, she runs her hand gently through her master's hair, cherishing his lowering eyelids and sleepy gaze. 

He was never tired before, she thinks, but there are many things he is now that he never was before. 

Her hand tightens in his hair and only later will she recall her slip up, the tiny bit of rage she allowed herself, and desperately hope he did not notice. 

When he smiles at her the next day, sharp and toothy and already eyeing a beautiful couple as they walk through the club doors, she wonders if he even remembers any of it. She cannot describe the rush of feelings that overtake her at the thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments and Kudos are much appreciated! I'm rhymesofblue on tumblr if you wanna check out how I procrastinate everything. Even doing the things I love!


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